The complex had been quiet for several hours. The distinct chill in the air indicated that it was sometime in the deepest night. Jinhai had no idea how long he had lain in his bed, mind a blank landscape devoid of thought or feeling. Nor was he sure what had finally pulled him from his inner self. A noise? A gust of chill mountain air? Either way, he was aware now, and his thoughts, which he had been trying to keep suppressed beneath his consciousness, had escaped his control and were plaguing him like shadowy demons, flitting through the darkness within his mindscape. A match for the darkness that had claimed his eyes. 

Finally growing sick of laying there like a dead thing, he sat upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Without the weight of his bed cover, his thin robe felt inadequate against the altitude’s cold. Standing, his movements slow and stiff, he carefully shuffled over to where his cape hung, pulling it around his shoulders and huddling within the silk folds for a moment. With a hint of disgust at himself, he forced his body to stand properly upright. Refusing to be hunched over like a beaten dog, even if there was no one around to see him in such a sorry state. 

Pale hands emerged to tug the collar of his robe up higher, trying to ward off the chill that originated from within himself. With a slightly shaky breath, he moved carefully through the room, unwilling to use his weakened spiritual energy to ‘see’ a room he should have known as well as his own body, and yet had become a stranger to him after the attack. He had been relying on his aura to navigate around the sect compound since he had woken from his coma, but even a few hours of constant use each day set his head to hurting, and made him feel like an old rag, worn thin and stretched out beyond what his spirit could handle. He had tried to hide the fatigue from his companions, but he doubted he had fooled them. Though they had been kind enough not to point it out or question him directly. Feng Jianyu had taken to leading him everywhere, a hand at his elbow or wrist, a soft word at his ear. It was a side of the fierce man that Jinhai had rarely ever seen before, and honestly not one he would have ever claimed his friend possessed. Feng Jianyu was a tyrant in battle, always had been, and was single minded in his training. To the point where he was already in charge of much of the clan’s physical training regime, and was also rumoured to be next in line to be granted the title of War Master. Once the current one handed over the position to go into seclusion.

Rubbing a hand over his face roughly to banish his wandering thoughts, Jianyu carefully made his way to the entrance of his suit, fingers searching for the familiar landmarks of furniture and furnishings as he went. Knowing no one would be up and about, he stepped out onto the covered walkway and turned left, always keeping one hand on the railing when possible, and when crossing the open spaces, he held both hands out before him, wanting to ward off the various tree branches and decorative stonework that had never even registered as obstacles before. But now made him inch forward like a timid mouse. 

Yet finally, and with far more effort than he would admit, he made his way across the compound to the Hall of Ancestors. The white-drapped coffin had long since been put to rest in it’s ornate tomb at the back of the mountain, joining the previous clan members who had fallen off the path of immortality. Each one remembered in the Hall of Ancestors, their black lacquered tablets each on little plinths, offerings of food and wine scattered before them. Fading puffs of smoke drifted about the ceiling, the stubs of incense sticks offering their last wispy trails into the darkness. 

Bending to gather three fresh incense sticks from the pot set out for the purpose, JInhai lit them with a brief wave of his fingers, before lifting them to touch his forehead with great reverence. For a long moment he stood, useless eyes closed, the smoke raising to join the remnants among the rafters. Carefully he lowered the incense and pushed the ends into the small sand-filled pot before the newest carved wooden tablet. The scent of the incense couldn’t cover the smell of fresh lacquer, and with a deep, soul-wrenching shudder, Jinhai sank to his knees, barely registering the thin padding of the cushion beneath him. All the sorrow and pain and helpless fury he had forced down since the attack welled up out of him like a tidal wave, uncontrolled and violent. Harsh sobs shook his thin body, the sound muffled by his hands clamped over his mouth and nose. The pain-filled sounds transitioned into ragged, breathless screams as emotion finally overwhelmed the grieving man. His body collapsed in on itself as he hunched over, shaking from the force of his grief. 

Time seemed to pause, the night deathly still as the eerie cries drifted out into the darkness where they were swallowed up as if they had never been. When at last the sounds faded and the night returned to it’s more natural quiet, only a single shadow drifted through the dark, lingering near the building where Jinhai lay crumpled. Body wrung out and mind numbed by a pain that had no physical cause. The shadow figure never entered that place of pain and heartbreak, but kept vigil outside. As if on guard. Hours later, just before daybreak, the shivering figure in white emerged from the hall and wove his unsteady path back the way he had come. Only when Jinhai had returned inside his rooms, did the shadow finally slip away once again, returning to his own residence nearby.